Tim DeLaughter, above, started the Polyphonic Spree following the death of Tripping Daisy bandmate Wes Berggren.

Tim DeLaughter, above, started the Polyphonic Spree following the death of Tripping Daisy bandmate Wes Berggren.

Photo: Lauren Logan Photography

Image 4 of 5

Bread: from left to right, Larry Knechtel, Mike Botts, James Griffin and David Gates. HOUCHRON CAPTION (12/29/2004) SECSTAR: D'OH: Even if you've given up on the Atkins Diet, Bread is out. David Gates, singer/songwriter for the 1970s band, was last seen wearing a cowboy hat. Used as mug. HOUCHRON CAPTION (01/14/2005) SECNEWS: James Arthur Griffin also wrote hits for Conway Twitty and Restless Heart. less

Bread: from left to right, Larry Knechtel, Mike Botts, James Griffin and David Gates. HOUCHRON CAPTION (12/29/2004) SECSTAR: D'OH: Even if you've given up on the Atkins Diet, Bread is out. David Gates, ... more

People have had 13 years to process the Polyphonic Spree, the unorthodox 20-plus-member symphonic pop band from Dallas. And the Polyphonic Spree offers much to process, with all those instrumentalists; the celebratory shows; the lush, brassy instrumentation; and songs that fuse two seemingly contradictory elements - sincerity and psychedelia.

But for all that's going on in the band at any given moment, the descriptor that tends to get used time and again to describe the Polyphonic Spree is "happy."

There are happy songs and there are unhappy songs, for certain, but I've not encountered a band in my lifetime that I'd describe as happy. Bands are by nature unhappy: groups of people with varying degrees of power, with different personalities and preferences squeezed into tight proximity for forced collaborative creativity upon which they've bet their financial security and artistic reputation. Bands are volatile.

So why the "happy" for the Polyphonic Spree? Superficial reasons include the songs written by ringleader Tim DeLaughter, which have a lyrical quality about them that suggests hopefulness. The band also carries a choir of singers whose vocals can add a joyous quality to the songs. They seem to have fun on stage. The band's shows are singular for the sense of coiled energy released in tandem with the audience.

I've always relied on a different word to describe the Polyphonic Spree, its albums and its shows. "Euphoric" touches on the joyousness but with Greek roots in the concept of endurance.

More Information

The Polyphonic Spree was born from death. DeLaughter's friend and bandmate Wes Berggren died of a drug overdose in 1999, ending Tripping Daisy, the alternative rock band they'd played together in for a decade. When the Polyphonic Spree emerged a year later, it did so in striking fashion. The robes, sure, but DeLaughter sought to make music without constraints, so he assembled a band the size of a baseball roster, with French horns, tympani, theremin. His band was the jumbo box of Crayola crayons. One inspiration he drew from were bands such as the 5th Dimension and the Association - bands often tagged as uplifting, but also bands working out the tumult of the late '60s and early '70s.

DeLaughter seemed to be processing grief on the first two Polyphonic Spree albums. A third album focused more on war and conflict. Now the band is back with "Yes, It's True," its first new album (not counting a holiday CD) in six years.

He picks up on some themes present from the first Spree record, namely, seeking simple reassurance through such elemental sources as nature. His conflict on "Yes, It's True" is a briskly paced and sometimes bullying electronic culture. Nostalgia isn't necessarily a theme of the record, but a faux radio spoken-word break references the sounds of the 1970s. DeLaughter seems to be asking for deeper connections in an age when more plentiful but fleeting digital connections suffice.

The album contains moments of joy, and as with much of the Spree's best music, many songs are rooted deeply in melancholy. The record reminded me of a quote printed in the most recent album by singer-songwriter Todd Snider, which he attributed to his late, beloved manager: "It's not the despair that gets you. It's the hope."

The job of a creative person like DeLaughter is to take experience and translate it, in his case, into song, both the despair and the hope, with the difficulty it entails. His voice is a fine vessel for it: It's like a giant stained-glass window, resplendent and fragile. His songs honestly and earnestly acknowledge and celebrate the journey.